Page 36 of Better Watch Out

But also because there’s every chance I’d wreck his nice, new truck and ruin this whole reconnecting thing all on my own.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

My curiosity about the murders doesn’t lessen. If anything it gets stronger, until I’m tapping my fingers on Sitka’s head and wondering how uncomfortable I’m willing to make myself to get answers. While I don’t talk to anyone from SIU anymore, I still have two or three people added on social media.

I just pretend they don’t exist.

Once in a while, I stop what I’m doing to look over at Boone or Fletcher, but they act like nothing is out of the ordinary. It’s Christmas Eve at our lake house, just like it used to be, and except for the way I’m fidgeting and a little nervous, everything could be normal.

Like I never left at all.

Absently, I scroll through my phone, looking at a few things as I pretend I’m not about to see if I’m still connected to the few others from SIU who still exist to me. But it feels like I’m doing something wrong, and I find myself occasionally glancing up at the two guys when they walk into the room or whenever Boone laughs loudly. Which is, of course, every time he laughs. Volume control is a myth to him.

But God, I worry that I’m starting tolookguilty. No matter how hard I try to just lounge casually in the recliner, my legs up over one side of it, I’m sure that I’m fidgeting or giving off vibes of doing something wrong. Though maybe if I’m really lucky, they’ll just think I’m nervous around them, or anxious about the situation instead of doing something wrong. It’s not like Fletcher canactuallyread my mind, I’m pretty sure, so?—

“You’re awfully quiet, princess.” The object of my worry speaks up from where he’s leaning over Boone with one hand in his hair. I should’ve realized Boone was being pretty silent, which only really happens when he’s sleeping or Fletcher has his attention.

“Hmm?” I look up, feigning casual surprise. “Sorry. You’ll be shocked to know I’m sort of tired.” That part’s pretty true, at least. I’m exhausted from the last few days and my constant worry and anxiety over all of this.

I grin wryly at them both, resting my head on my hand as I readjust in the armchair. “And Boone’s taste in Christmas movies sucks.Krampusis not that great, and certainly not a classic. We should be watchingJurassic Worldinstead.”

“How isJurassic Worlda Christmas movie?” Boone scoffs, sitting up straighter. From the corner of my eye I see Fletcher straighten, giving Boone’s hair one more affectionate pat before he pulls away.

“It’s set during Christmastime. Therefore, it is in fact a Christmas movie.” I smile sweetly at him, then drop my gaze back to my phone. “So when it’s my turn to pick, I will be choosing that to watch.” From the corner of my eye I see Fletcher wandering closer to me and I surreptitiously switch off of the app I’d been on. Instead, I go to google and quickly type inJurassic WorldandChristmas. The result is the explanation I’d given and a picture of Blue in a Santa hat, which I turn to show Boone. “See?”

Boone leans forward and then rolls his eyes, slumping back against the sofa. “It isnota Christmas movie,” he gripes.

“Can I see?” Fletcher holds out his hand for my phone and I eye him flatly, pulling it back as my heart thumps painfully against my ribs as if letting me know I’m on the verge of getting caught.

Like I don’t already know that.

“No. You have a bad habit of taking my phone and I worry one of these days I won’t get it back.” I force myself to sound casual, like I’m just griping at him. But Fletcher eyes me warily, stepping closer until he’srightin front of the recliner and I have nowhere at all to go.

Crap.

I wish at least I had time to close out of what I’d been doing, instead of just hiding it behind my browser. But I certainly can’t do that now. Not with him staring down at me like he can see through my lies.

Slowly he leans down, hands on both of the arms of the recliner and meets my gaze. “Let me give you some tips about hiding things from me, princess,” Fletcher purrs quietly, his face only inches from mine.

“Sure, okay,” I reply quietly. “I’m always up for advice.”

“First of all.” He tips his head slightly, eyes dropping to my lips before flicking back up to my eyes. “When I ask for your phone, don’t be jumpy. Say less, not more. When you ramble…”—he reaches out and closes his fingers around my phone, tugging it out of my grip and laying it on the wide arm of the recliner—“it lets me know I’m right.”

This time I don’t reply. Instead, I turn to glare at Boone, as if he’s the source of my problems. He raises a brow, flopping over on the couch and tilting his head up to stare at me balefully. “Don’t look at me.” He sighs, twisting slightly to throw his legover the back of the couch. “You’re the one who thought you could lie to him. EvenIcan see you’re hiding something.”

“Which brings us to my second point. Learn to control your body language, darling. Ever since you picked up your phone, you’ve been acting jumpy and glancing over at us to make sure we aren’t looking. You went from relaxed to tense and curled up. So show me.”

For a few seconds I don’t process what he said. But once I do, I look up at him, widening my eyes and opening my mouth to speak.

“I’m not interested in your lies or excuses.” He smiles, though it’s not a friendly or jovial look. “Show me what you’ve been doing.” His eyes dip pointedly to my phone, then back up at me.

“I…” Sucking in a breath I tap the screen, navigating to my browser to show him the google search forJurassic World.“I was looking this up for Boone, and then I was also umm…” I hit the back button on the browser, not quite remembering what it’ll take me to.

A list of flights pop up on my page, showing that they’re still canceled and have yet to be rescheduled. Something uncurls in my chest and I look up at Fletcher, narrowing my eyes. “There. You wanted to see so bad? I was seeing if any flights started going out again.”

It’s reasonable and believable. At least to me. Whywouldn’the believe it, when I’ve been very clear since they got here that I want to go back to Illinois. Something in my chest uncurls at having such an easy excuse, and I expect him to back off now that he’s seen this?—

“That’s not what you were doing.” His words come with a disappointed sigh, like I’ve failed some test. “Please, Conor. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

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